Days of Fire and Blood
by Vendelyn Silverhawk
Summary: Jane and Loki prepared for a royal birth, but disastrous events during Maliketh's invasion revealed that Jane is barren. Thor and Sif's daughter was scarred by the Dark Elves, and now grief looms in the wake of what should have been a victory. What is left for Loki and Jane, now? Lokane One-Shot Challenge by Alydia Rackham.


**A/N:** So, this is one of my Lokane one-shots for Queen Alydia Rackham's Lokane challenge this weekend, and requires a little explanation.

I haven't seen the movie yet, so this is spawned in context of my headcannon for Jane and Loki marrying and her becoming an Aesir and living with him in Asgard as a princess. In this headcannon Thor and Sif are married and have a one-year-old daughter by the time of Maliketh's invasion (twisting time a little here, between Loki's NY invasion and Maliketh's). Their daughter is scarred by their dark magic and will grow up with burn scars covering half of her face and a few spots on her arms _(a story about her, tying into this headcannon, will follow eventually!)_. Meanwhile, Loki and Jane, who were (hopefully) expecting a child, discover when Jane is wounded and must be healed by magic that she can't have children _(plot twist, they don't know whether it is a side-effect of the dangerous magic used to head her or whether or not she was barren to begin with. A story about this will also follow sometime this weekend)_. This fic is set one year after the invasion; happy reading!

(Well, not really. The whole point of this is to make you sad, so it remains to be seen whether or not my bathos skills are up to the test! You know how you can let me know that? REVIEWS! I lovelovelove them, even if they're just a short "I liked it" or "I hated it so much I wanted to burn my computer." Any feedback, really. Though preferably the constructive kind. OK, review-advertising over.)

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One year.

One year since the attack that took everything from her like the sun ridding the night sky of the stars.

The water of her stream of consciousness flowed in her mind's eye, bearing with it memories tinged with smoke and blood and screams. It tasted salty, an aftertaste of grief, drying slowly in the summer sun that could not pierce the ice around her bones.

Beneath her bare feet the grasp was strangled by her toes, warm and soft as only the Asgardian sun could make it, wind whistling gently in her ears. It brought with it sounds of laughter, of children, and when she opened her eyes she saw them coming towards her.

"Don't roughhouse!" She laughed, spoiling the raven-haired boy's plot to startle his female comrade. Discovered, his green eyes widened and he raced away across the garden in fear of the girl's wrath. Her golden hair, already waist-length despite her seven years, flowed behind her like a waterfall of sunlight, somewhere between her mother's previous gold and her father's yellow.

The boy's hair, however, was all his father's- black and slicked back with not a hair out of place even though he ran circles around the frustrated girl. At last she was fed up by his taunting, and settled for knocking him to the ground when he strayed too close. In a flash the toppled princeling disappeared, much to the girl's outrage.

"No magic!" She cried, face screwed up in concentration as she scanned the flower bushes and low-hanging trees for him.

Meanwhile, the sound of little feet padding across the earth behind her caused her to whirl around and come face-to-face with the little boy. Holding a finger to his lips and gesturing to the golden girl below their little hill, he grinned and sat down next to her. Green eyes glinting with the ghost of his father's mischievous spirit, pale face all regal planes and angles colored with the flush of youth, in the silver-stitched tunic he looked every bit the prince he was.

"Darling," she whispered, pulling him into her arms. He giggled, and the golden girl looked up at the scene with fury; she couldn't touch him if he was smothered in his mother's arms.

He stuck his tongue out, prompting them to another bout of laughter.

"That's cheating! If I can't use my father, no hiding behind your mother!" She called.

"Yes, go get your father- if the king dares to cross us!" The little boy laughed, sharing a conspirator's grin with his mother. It was a game they played, when things finally came to this; the King would intervene, and prove no match for the woman tough enough to marry Loki.

Sticking her tongue out, the girl huffed away, a vision of her warrior mother about to do some serious damage. The little prince's well-meant laughter followed her; she would be back, and they would play again, and all would be well between earnest cousins.

"Do you think I'll really get in trouble this time?" The boy asked when he crawled from his mother's arms, opting to sit beside her, hand in his. Absently, she stroked his hair back and watched flowers drift back and forth in the breeze. Would it be clear enough for stargazing tonight? He was almost done memorizing the constellations.

"Of course not, darling."

She began to hum an old song her mother sang to her, about the stars and love everlasting, as she held her son close. Her child, precious boy…

"Love."

That voice wasn't right. It didn't belong in this sunny place, this world of children and laughter and good-natured kings. It was too sad, too defeated…

_No_. She had a moment to panic wildly before a hand brushed her cheek, settled on her arm, cold spreading wherever it touched her skin.

Beside her, the child began to fade, confusion filling his star-bright eyes.

"Mother?"

"Jane, love."

"Mother!"

_No!_

"Jane! Come back to me!" And her son was gone, in his place an adult version gently shaking her arms, stroking her face, staring at her with haunted, ageless eyes filled with fear.

"Loki…" she whispered shakily, recognizing her husband against the backdrop of stars. It was night; how long had it been night? Wasn't it just sunny-?

_Oh. _

"Jane, oh… Jane." His hands, pale and soft, brushed away the tears rapidly coursing down her cheeks, hot in the chill autumn air, but they couldn't ease the weight in her heart. Beside her the grass was bare and cold; the garden was too solemn for laughter ever to have graced it.

_My Alya, my son…_

Collapsing into Loki's arms, shaking and shivering, Jane relived every conversation she and Loki had had about children since they were married, every daydream of a son or daughter to teach about the stars, the wild hope when it felt like she had finally conceived, and Odin and Frigg's congratulations. But with the good memories came the bad, those of battle and pain, and black magic ripping her apart, those days of fire and blood.

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"Shhh…. I know." Loki cooed, stroking her hair and burying his face into her neck to hide his own anguished expression. Almost a year, and still neither could let go of the shadow that had almost been their son. His heir…

A year of Jane losing herself in daydreams so vivid Loki would have to ease her mind with magic in order to let her be at peace afterwards. Tonight, there would be another nightmare about that day, waking both of them in a cold sweat for another round of tears and silent screams.

How long until they both let go?

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For a brief time her son, named for a brightest star, had played in the garden and she had heard him laugh. For just a moment, she had seen Thor's daughter, Aster grown and flawless, without the burn scars covering half of her face. A few careful seconds of paradise, before being wrenched back into reality.

"When will it end?" She whispered into his shoulder.

"I don't know, love." He replied, pulling back ever so slightly. They sat in each others arms for an unknowable length of time after that, Jane curled against his lap, his arms around her protectively, as they contemplated the night sky together and the rest of the palace slept, unaware of the dramatic events going on in the garden below.

"There he is," Jane pointed to one of the brightest stars in the sky, a key point in one of her favorite constellations; one of the only ones that overlapped between Asgard and Midgard.

"Our Alya," Loki agreed solemnly, chin resting on her forehead. Their fingers laced together in the grass below as they sat, and waited, and prayed for things neither dared admit to each other, watching their son in the sky until the sun rose and every point of light faded, like so many wisps of their fallen dreams.

_Review!_


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